


Close to Me (Just Like You Used to Be)

by thelarenttrap



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Friends to Lovers, Gay Male Character, Love Simon Spoilers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexuality, Some Fluff, Theater Major Louis, english major harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelarenttrap/pseuds/thelarenttrap
Summary: Harry is beginning his junior year of college. He is a part of Kappa Alpha Alpha, an honors society, and on the road to becoming the editor in chief of the campus lit magazine. Between his roommate (Niall) and a few friends to hit the bars with, college life is content for Harry.  There is just one thing left to address: his sexuality.Then, Louis returns to campus in a whirlwind of nostalgia and twinkling eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kikikryslee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikikryslee/gifts).



> First off, thank you x100 to Jada for being my wonderful, funny, live-reacting-while-I-type beta. You made this story even more fun to write!
> 
> To kikikryslee: I hope there is a sufficient amount of fluff in this fic as it was written by someone who writes a lot of angst. I can write you more fluffy epilogues if you are not satisfied!
> 
> Harry's feelings about sex as displayed in this fic are almost entirely based on firsthand experience, I apologize in advance if any aspec people don't find this relatable!
> 
> Lastly, I have never been to Paris.

Harry knows he is a sappy drunk. Some may even say he is a sloppy drunk. He’s seen the pictures; his cheeks get flushed, his eyelashes flutter to create crescent moons in his eyes, and his lips turn red from bitten and endless chatter. Harry has never before had a hangover like this, however. His stomach feels weirdly full but also like it’s begging for him to put something in it that is not alcohol, and his brain is thumping against his temple. He also just  _ feels _ like he should shower, without any physical evidence to back this up. 

Even leaving his bed this morning had been difficult. Had he drank  _ no  _ water last night? Consuming some carbs and a cup of coffee had seemed a proper solution, however, and he had drug himself to the dining hall. 

Seated by himself with his eyes downcast, hands cradling the small, white diner mug of caffeine, eavesdropping on the conversation at the table behind him had come all too naturally. 

“What a babe,” a gruff voice was saying. Harry had yet to peak over his shoulder, to put faces to the rude words. “I wish I had gotten a piece of that.”

“She was  _ bomb _ in bed,” came the response. “Perkiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

God, Harry just hated talk of sex. Especially when he had what was bordering on a migraine. He had never experienced want in that way, didn’t understand how guys like this, perhaps frat guys or bar regulars, just constantly thought about sex like this. 

“I almost scored with Kayla last night, but her friend took her home before she was too far gone.”

“You’ve been after her for months!”

“Sexiest girl I’ve ever seen, can’t not think about her,” he replies. 

Harry wants to leave this cafeteria ASAP. 

 

Back in his room, Harry is glad to see his roommate, Niall, has left his bed. Niall has a habit of sleeping in well past noon and snoring. Whereas Harry sleeps poorly after a night of partying, waking as early as 6am and unable to fall back to sleep, Niall hibernates. A couple of pitchers of beer at the crappy bar off campus and he wastes an entire day to dreams. 

Intent on doing no homework today, Harry crawls back into his bunk, pulling his laptop with him. Too late he realizes he should have brought the charging cord, threaded it through the safety railing for when the computer inevitably dies. Shrugging, he cracks it open and leans against the wall to absorb his mind into  _ Stranger Things _ .

Niall returns near the end of the first episode, practically bouncing through the door and too cheery for the night they’d had. 

“Cheers, had some extra meal swipes,” he says, setting a to-go cup of coffee on the top rung of Harry’s bunk ladder. Niall has a coffee of his own and a microwaveable Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwich he promptly pops into their microwave. Leave it to Niall to deicide he is above cafeteria food, even hungover, and go for the good stuff in the student union’s Snack Shack. 

“Bless up,” Harry says, taking the coffee to cradle in his hands. They are perpetually cold and it is one of the biggest plagues in Harry’s life. 

Niall climbs into his own bunk, tucking his legs under the blankets, and pulls his laptop from under his pillow. They both proceed to watch Netflix in silence for the next three hours. It is a beautiful friendship.

 

It’s only the second day of ENG 375: Advanced Poetry Analysis and Harry is already annoyed with half the class. The good thing about being an English major is the open mindness of the classroom. The bad thing is the people who are inherently thinking that they are smarter than every student  _ and _ the professor so they should be teaching the class. 

“I think the second poem is a better example of Fredrich’s work because it shows the rawness of love, the intenseness of love,” the bearded guy beside Harry argues. 

_ You like the second one better because it’s about sex _ , Harry thinks, sighing audibly. The bearded man continues. 

“It requires a fine eye to understand the undertones. There is so much subtlety in how Fredrich writes their interactions.”

_ We all know they’re fucking _ , Harry thinks. If he was more outgoing in class, he would raise his hand and say this, but he also doesn’t feel like starting a classroom fight on the second day.  _ We get it, you think only you understand it because you’ve been with  _ so  _ many girls.  _ Harry doesn’t understand the fixation with sex. Well, he understands how society tells everyone they should want it, but he doesn’t get  _ why _ . 

The bearded guy is still going. “When he is with her--”

“You’re assuming the couple is a man and a woman,” the professor interrupts him. Two girls in the row in front of Harry silently agree with the professor, nodding their heads. “There are no pronouns in this poem. That’s a big assumption to make.”

Harry looks at the poem again, in a tab on his laptop screen. It’s true, the author does not use any gendered pronouns since it’s written in second person. He smiles. 

If Harry is confused about his lack of interest in sex, then he is utterly dumbfounded by his feelings about people romantically. He can picture himself dating a boy, he nearly had during the first semester last year. 

Harry knows he doesn’t want to  _ fuck  _ a guy though, he just wants to cuddle with a man. Or buy flowers for a man. Or care for and cook for a man. The possibilities are endless. But he also doesn’t want to fuck a woman. He  _ does _ want to cuddle a woman though, and care for her and cook for her too. He just really doesn’t want to put his penis in anyone. Or have anyone’s penis in him for that matter. 

Harry half listens while the professor schools the bearded student about heteronormativity, then packs his things and leaves immediately after the professor ends class. There are snacks and Netflix in his dorm room calling his name. 

 

Thursday night is the meeting for Harry’s honors society, Kappa Alpha Alpha. He loves it because it’s half like being in greek life (they have a family system and everything; bigs and littles) but the qualifications to get in are a high GPA and a good resume. Harry assumes being one of the junior editors of the campus’s literary magazine,  _ For Consumption _ , helped him be accepted as a sophomore.

He’s made most of his friends through KAA. Him and Niall were in the same pledge class, and became roommates this year because they met through the society. Without having friends left from freshman year, KAA had been a lifesaver. 

“Harry!” The VP, Liam, hurries towards Harry as he enters the meeting room. Liam’s face scrunches as he gives Harry a huge smile, then claps him on the shoulder. 

“How was your summer?” Liam asks. 

Harry knows for a fact Liam spent his summer building houses in Nicaragua so anything he says is going to sound infinitely more lame in comparison. Harry decides to embrace it. 

“It was good, I got a lot of reading done.”

Liam doesn’t seem to know how to respond, and considering he is a psychology major who probably hasn’t read a novel since  _ To Kill a Mockingbird _ was assigned homework in high school, Harry isn’t surprised. Come to think of it, he probably used SparkNotes or Shmoop anyways. 

Harry shoots the breeze with the other members, throwing a “sup” nod Niall’s way when he spots his roommate. They settle into their seats shortly thereafter and Liam reminds them of their rush dates later that week before launching into the rest of their meeting. 

Afterwards, Niall bounds across the room to Harry. “Dollar shots at Kirkpatrick's tonight, you going?”

Harry gives it more thought than he really should after last night. Even if the beginning of the year always means parties before homework sets in, he probably shouldn’t spend another night this week trashed. Kirkpatrick’s is always fun, however, and their DJ plays something other than the top 40. 

“I’ll come for a bit,” Harry says, “but I’ll probably leave before you do.” Niall is notorious for staying out until 4 a.m. or possibly later. Harry doesn’t know how he balances his music major, business minor, and social life so well. He is in a fucking honors society after all. 

They go home to change, and arrive at the club within the hour. It seems every upperclassman in KAA, and every one with a fake ID like Harry and Niall, reconvened for a night to remember. The lights flash, strobing the crowd in alternating red and blue. Harry’s friend Cara greets him with a shot when he and Niall enter. 

“Shot for shot?” she asks, tapping the edge of her matching lemon drop to Harry’s before throwing them back in unison. He hasn’t even taken off his coat. Shot for shot is their usual, a friendly competition to see which of their string bean bodies can take more alcohol. They stopped keeping score of the game long ago, but still keep pace with one another for the sake of tradition. 

“Not tonight,” Harry says. Cara pouts. “I only just got over my hangover, I’m not down for another in class tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself,” she says deeply, flitting away to join her girlfriend on the dance floor. The two sway in their high heels, an 80’s song playing, and Harry scans the crowd for more familiar faces. 

And that’s when he sees Louis. Louis  _ fucking _ Tomlinson. 

Harry didn’t know what a year abroad could do to a man.  

Louis has always been pretty, always had dainty features and shaggy hair. Now, the sides are cropped short and the top is a textured mess. If Harry didn't know better from an intimate year of living in a 10x20 room and seeing Louis meticulously arrange his hair everyday, he’d say Louis is rocking bed head. He’s working the room, flitting between conversations and making himself known, in the way only Louis can. Girls toss their heads back, laughing, and boys smile, charmed. Louis hits them with his small smile, and Harry finds himself ducking into the crowd to get away.

Louis had been his best friend. Louis had been the reason he didn’t drop out of college freshman year. Louis and Harry hadn’t talked in almost a year. 

Harry thankfully finds Niall standing at the bar. 

“Make that two!” Niall tells the bartender when he realizes it’s Harry beside him. The bartender nods, taking another tiny glass from beneath the counter. If Harry is not mistaken, the woman behind the bar is the same one he tipped almost $20 last semester because he was drunk and she gave him a glass of water. 

“Why do you look like you’re hiding?”

“Who says I am hiding?”

“Welp, if I wasn’t sure that response made me confident,” Niall teases. “Blimey Harry, take a chill pill. Get drunk.”

Harry has half an eye on Louis taking the stairs up to the seating area in the loft above the dance floor. He keeps his head turned, hoping he is unrecognizable with his hair cropped shorter than Louis has ever seen it. 

“Let’s find Liam,” Niall says, pulling Harry away from the bar and back into the crowd, shots in hand. “He had a table over here last time I saw him and I’mma need to sit once I down this bad boy.”

Harry tails Niall past dozens of students starting the new school year off with a bang. It had been Harry’s exact mood the night before, but now he feels incredibly sobered. He hates that losing Louis makes him feel like this. 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry is, unsurprisingly, in his bunk when he hears Niall’s key in their door. He is half way through a chapter in his poetry textbook, finishing the reading so he can educatedly fight with the bearded kid in his class tomorrow. It clicks open to reveal two people, rather than just his bouncing roommate. 

“Harry!” Shawn greets him. Shawn is Niall’s friend, a classmate turned intramural teammate galore and fellow guitar junkie. Shawn usually appears for a sweaty, after game dinner in the downstairs dining hall or to pluck guitar strings for a few hours. Today seems like the latter, considering the strap across his chest holding on his Gibson. 

“Shawn! How are you?” This is the first time this year Harry has seen him since spring semester, and even if they are only acquaintances via Niall, seeing anyone from school after a long summer is like coming home. 

“Good, really good. How are your classes going?”

Harry holds up his textbook. “Busy already, but at least I am almost done with gen eds. Smooth sailing from here.”

“Lucky, I still have math to finish. I am gonna be fucked, been out of math for over a year now,” Shawn laughs. Niall, meanwhile, digs to the back of his wardrobe and produces his own guitar. 

“How was your summer?”

“Spent it as a camp counselor in Maryland,” Shawn says, taking his guitar off his back and unzipping the case. “Gotta say, I learned a lot of patience. I also learned some new stuff on guitar.”

“Camp songs?” Harry guesses with skepticism. 

“Nope,” Niall says, popping the P. He whispers conspiratorially, “He met a girl.”

Harry is unsure how these things relate, but he is willing to roll with it. Did the girl inspire Shawn’s music skills? Did he write a Grammy worthy song from his love?

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Shawn teases. “She just taught me some new moves.”

“And you fell a little in love,” Niall says. 

“Don’t remind me!” Shawn strums straight across his guitar once. “She lives in Delaware and I’ll probably never see her again.”

Harry feels like he should be rolling his eyes in mock protest of these melodramatics. “Are those lyrics?”

“This could be my big break,” Shawn says. “Sam Smith, Adele… they all wrote albums about heartbreak.”

Niall sits down and plucks at the strings of his guitar, tuning it by ear. Harry has never understood how he does it, but then again Harry hasn’t played the guitar since high school. 

Harry finishes his reading while Shawn and Niall pluck and strum strings, Shawn teaching Niall these “new moves.” It’s a bit cliche and a bit too “hashtag college” but that’s what Harry loves about it. He feels like a kid in a movie, like he should be hanging halfway out of his bunk and asking if anyone has any Budweiser in their mini fridge. In the hallway, someone should be throwing a football or kicking a soccer ball, and someone else is  _ definitely _ sitting in a bean bag chair. There could also be duct tape over a rip in said chair. 

Somehow, Niall and Shawn compose twenty seconds of a song about the girl, somehow starting with asking her to “take it easy” on his heart.  It’s ironic to watch Shawn, a business major, teach Niall, a music major, about guitar but it’s all the ragtag inventions his music classes skip over. It’s like watching an upper class citizen learn how to do their laundry. 

By the fourth time they’ve run through the acoustic ballad, Harry knows all the words despite having been reading. He starts singing along, and their three voices mesh into a strange harmony. 

A knock on the door silences their broken record vocals. “Can you guys keep it down?” a voice says. “I’m trying to study.”

Niall laughs, Shawn covers his mouth, and Harry quickly hides behind his book despite a door between him and the complainer. He laughs, but tries to hold it in. Niall is a little red in the face. 

Shawn strums his guitar slowly. “He was a skater boy, she said see you later boy…”

Harry and Niall cackle, undoubtedly further pissing of their neighbor. Harry doesn’t think he laughed this much all summer. 

 

Harry hates this class and it's far too large for a discussion based course and he feels so alone because he doesn’t know anyone’s names and  _ now they want him to do a group project? _

“I have randomly assigned everyone partners,” the professor explains. “You will have an assigned day to lead a class activity for thirty minutes. It should engage the text in a way our typical discussion does not. You have the last twenty minutes to meet with your partner and begin planning. Pairings are on the board!”

Harry’s name is next to a kid named “Zayn” and he has to spend an awkward two minutes asking each boy milling past him if he is Zayn. Finally though, he locates his project partener. 

Zayn is gorgeous, beautiful in that ethereal way which means no one ever believes they have a chance with him. Gone are the feelings of middle school crushes and gentle flirtation, replaced by feelings of celebrity idolization despite Zayn being before his very eyes. 

Harry feels like no matter what he says, it will be stupid. And embarrassing. 

“I think we could have the class do a comparison between the poems, make a T-chart as a class,” Zayn says, but Harry doesn’t know if he is listening or focusing on watching how Zayn’s eyelashes brush his cheekbones. “But you’re the english major, so you probably know some better activities than me.”

They end up planning having the class break into small groups. Harry finds out he is a an art major and thinks he is even more impressed with Zayn than before. They part ways at the end of class by exchanging numbers to hit one another up for the project.

Harry hurries down the stairs and out the doors to head to his next class. Crossing the quad, weaving between frisbee throwers and friendly dogs straining at their leashes to say hello, Harry feels more sure than ever that he is gay. Oh no. 

It’s not that he has anything wrong with gay people, quite the contrary, but he feels that this is one of those  _ moments _ . Like in a movie or book when the character’s entire life changes; the moment Nick met Gatsby, when Holden Caufield is in a hotel room with a prostitute he doesn’t actually want to sleep with, when Q from  _ Paper Towns _ figures out where Margo is and embarks on his road trip to New York state. This might be Harry’s moment. 

If he is gay, then the entire ballgame just changed. His dating pool is completely different (But does he even want to date someone? Dating means sex, and he’s not sure if he’s down. Still. Will he ever know?) He also thinks it would change his platonic relationships. Would Niall treat him the same or act weird that they are roommates? He knows some friends would easily persist; Cara is dating a girl after all. He supposes he would be closer to people like Cara then, rather than just “say hi when you see them” kind of friends. 

Thankfully, arriving to his next class, gen ed biology, distracts him from this spiral of thoughts. Now, he just needs to dissect a frog. It’s arguably easier than thinking about his sexuality. 

 

It is the first night of Kappa Alpha Alpha’s rush and Harry is excited. Considering the society has framed most of his college experience at this point, he loves meeting the rushees and lamenting his love for the organization to them. He is always a little sappy and a little cliche, but--as Harry tells himself-- that’s half his charm. 

The night starts easy, with the PR chair introducing herself and the rest of the executive board. Niall skips to the front of the room to reveal to the rushees that he is the social chair. Harry leans in and brags to the rushees at his table that Niall is his roommate. 

Then, they break into new groups so rushees can meet even more members. 

“If your favorite kind of pizza is pepperoni, meet in that corner,” the PR chair shouts into her mic. “Hawaiian over there, and sausage in the middle of the room. Cheese only in the other corner!”

Harry heads to the middle of the room. He is hungry now and is thankful to know that after this, he can probably convince Niall to order a pizza with him. And this is when he realizes who else is heading for the middle of the room. 

“Harry!” Louis says brightly. 

It’s the combination of shock at seeing his freshman year roommate  _ and _ the surprise that he is being  _ friendly _ after not talking for months that makes Harry’s brain stall. He tries turning the keys in the ignition once, twice, three times before words appear. “Uh, how’ve you been?”

“Good, weird to be back on campus,” Louis says. “You changed your hair.”

Harry reaches up and fondles a short piece along his hairline. “It was time for a change. How was France?”

“France was  _ amazing _ . Ten out of ten would recommend studying abroad. Although a full year was maybe a bit much but I was just having too good a time,” Louis says hurriedly. Is he nervous too?

“You were in Paris, right?” Harry doesn’t know why he is asking. He feels stupid, like he is trying to look aloof. Of course he knows Louis was in Paris. They Skyped once a week for the first two months as Louis settled into his dorm and explored the city for the first time. He even snapchatted Harry the Eiffel Tower, so excited to be seeing it in person even if he had gone alone. Harry knew  _ everything _ at first. Then, he suddenly knew nothing. 

“Yes, what a beautiful city.” Now, the other sausage pizza lovers have gathered, and another rushee thankfully takes up conversation with Louis. Harry’s mouth is dry, and he thinks his hands are shaking. The PR chair is handing out papers with instructions for their ice breaker activity. Harry can’t help thinking about how the ice between Louis and him had once been thoroughly melted and now seems like a glacier. 

“I am going to the bathroom,” Harry says to no one particular, and leaves the room. The door bangs shut behind him, and he leans against the wall in the hallway to breathe. 

Two years and one week ago was Harry’s freshman move in day. He had talked to his randomly assigned roommate online, planning who would bring the mini fridge and who would bring the microwave, but they had never spoken in real time and definitely not in person. Harry was more than a little nervous but willing to pretend he wasn’t. 

In had walked Louis Tomlinson with little sisters toting boxes and duffel bags, bravado and wit his staple. Quickly, their personalities merged into one person, becoming a package deal. Harry and Louis, Louis and Harry. The other people on their floor mixed up their names, having been introduced to them together and never seeing them apart. People thought they were the same major. Peers assumed they had known one another before college. They were inseparable. They traipsed down to breakfast together, took their gen eds together, and lounged about on the sofas in the common area watching  _ How I Met Your Mother _ reruns until the wee hours of the morning together. 

Only now, Harry sees what was really happening. He had been a little bit in love. 

“Harry, what’re you doing out here?”

Niall has emerged from the bathroom, prepared to throw himself back into the rush activities. He looks concerned, a rarity for a human inhabited by the aura of a golden retriever. 

“Nothing, just… uh, didn’t feel well.”

Niall nods. “Rumor is a summer cold is making the rounds. Unsurprised considering the hookups during the parties this week. But who have you been kissing?”

“No one, just--must have picked it up at the bar.” Harry feels silly, like a child hiding from a family gathering and caught by his mother. 

“Well, why don’t we head on back.” Niall is being passive aggressive, trying to save Harry the unexcused absence if anyone notices he has been gone too long. The society is strict about attendance. 

By the time he drags himself back in, the activity is almost over. Harry thankfully only has to participate in a few moments with Louis before they are switching groups again. 

One more hour in which he doesn’t cross paths with Louis, and then they are released for the night. Harry hurries to fetch his coat before taking off, intent on leaving without waiting for Niall, despite the fact that they live together, in order to avoid--

“Harry, do you have a moment?”  _ Fuck _ . 

“Louis,” Harry says, turning. “Of course.”  _ Please no. _

Louis looks almost as nervous and upended as Harry feels. “I was wondering if you would, I don’t know, want to get coffee sometime? Catch up on things.”

Harry almost says no. It’s just a few words.  _ Sorry, I don’t think that’s a good idea. _ But Louis’s baby blues are focused on him, a sense of wavering unease there, and Harry’s conditioning from a shared past kicks in, the one that doesn’t leave his roommate extraordinaire, Louis Tomlinson, hanging. 

“Of course, yeah. When were you thinking?”

“Sometime this week? What time are your classes Thursday?”

By the time Harry ends up leaving, it’s beside Niall and with a dazed understanding of how he ended up with a coffee date later in the week. “Louis was your freshman year roommate, right?” Niall asks as they exit the building. 

Harry glances behind him to make sure Louis took a different exit. He’s not the shadiest, but he knows to check over his shoulder before he talks about someone, good or bad. 

“Yeah, we were a random assignment.” He hopes the detail deters Niall from asking more questions, makes their history seem nonchalant. 

Much like a golden retriever, Niall gets distracted as they approach the campus fountain and forgets all about Louis. Harry breathes a sigh of relief. 

 

Wednesday is Harry’s meeting with Zayn to plan their class discussion project. They meet in the library and rent one of the private work rooms. It’s the respectful way to make sure they don’t disturb anyone needing silence to study. 

“So, what are the things you’d most like to talk about with this book?” Zayn asks after they sit down. They both have copies of  _ The Great Gatsby  _ on the table in front of them. 

“Well, there’s the obvious feminist angle,” Harry says. “But I’d also like to discuss what people think Nick’s connection is to the whole story. He is an observer afterall.”

“True, it’s an interesting perspective for Fitzgerald to have written from,” Zayn says, jotting down notes in his spiral. 

“Do you have thoughts on why? Cause we need things to supply if the class doesn’t say anything.”

Zayn thinks for a moment. “Well, obviously it kinda works cause he is Daisy’s cousin. But also I feel like there is a strong connection between him and Gatsby.”

“He is kinda in love with Gatsby,” Harry says quietly. 

Zayn lets a silent pause sit. “You’re not wrong.”

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He hates bringing up queer vibes in books, thinking people will assume he is outing himself if he says it. He doesn’t even know for sure he is not straight and it causes him anxiety. 

“I was nervous to bring it up too,” Zayn says, a soft smile. “Never know how people are going to react, but I feel like within the humanities most people are accepting of us.”

_ Us? _ Harry debates if he should ask before his curiosity gets the better of him. “Us?”

“Yeah, LGBTQ people,” Zayn says as nonchalantly as noting the weather. He is looking down, writing notes still. 

When he finally looks up, subtle scratching of his pen ceased, he catches Harry’s face. “Oh, um, are you…”

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. He can’t believe he is saying it aloud. He didn’t think he would ever be saying his deepest thoughts like this to a stranger. 

“I’m bisexual,” Zayn tells him, “so like, feel free to ask me anything. I know it can be hard figuring out your identity.”

_ Bisexual _ . Harry has heard the term before, but had rather forgot it existed. “So, like how would you describe, like, how you feel towards people?” Harry asks, hesitantly. 

“I’m attracted to guys and girls, could see myself with either. And people who are genderqueer, just really any gender is cool with me,” Zayn says. He is so nonchalant, is just casually discussing his sexuality, and Harry is envious. He wants to feel so confident, so full and settled with his identity that he can offer advice to someone who is essentially a stranger. He can’t imagine that day will ever come. 

“Oh, and did you also think Jordan seemed a little queer.”

“She could be lesbian,” Harry agrees. “I could see it.”

They plan their class session with renewed vigor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter will be posted in two days!


	3. Chapter 3

When Harry finally departs from the library, he takes the short walk back to his dorm to think about what Zayn said.  _ Bisexual _ . It seems fitting, considering Harry can see himself with men or women. Anyone really, for that matter. Gender is a social construct after all. 

But thinking about himself with a boy immediately means Harry inserts  _ someone _ into the picture with him, and his brain autofills Louis. Harry thinks maybe he has been lying to himself for some time. Louis and him had cuddled, stayed up ridiculously late together, ate most of their meals together, and there was even one instance when Harry first started working on  _ For Consumption _ when Louis became jealous of Nick. Their lives freshman year were hopelessly intertwined, two peas in a pod.

Harry supposes, in their own way at that time, they were dating. Whether or not they knew it, the sheer amount of time they dedicated to one another and the singularity with which they lived in one another’s presence alludes to a lot. And Harry supposes that, along this line of thought, he can also say he was a little bit in love with Louis at that time. It’s a terrifying thought. 

That night, Harry gets a text from Louis. 

“Whoa there,” Niall says as Harry scrambles to grab his phone, nearly knocking it off his desk. “Who the bloody hell is texting you?”

“No one,” Harry says too quickly. He doesn’t think he is blushing but he very well could be. 

Harry finally unlocks his phone and checks the text. He tries to ignore the fact that the last text on the screen before today is well over a year old. It was Harry asking if Louis wanted to Skype again soon.

Today, Louis writes: “Still down for coffee and catch up?” 

Harry confirms the time they will meet tomorrow and then tries to set his phone aside to focus on finishing his Victorian Novels course reading. It takes all his willpower to not check his phone when Louis texts him more, assumedly to continue the conversation. 

The next day, Harry finds himself approaching the campus coffee shop while vibrating with nerves. How silly it feels to be so nervous to meet Louis when they had begun college with simple texts hailing one another to the dining hall after morning classes, or shuffling in for pancakes in their slippers on Sunday mornings. 

Before bed, Harry had checked the texts Louis had sent. It was the start of small talk, catch up material. Harry had sent a quick text noting how busy he had been with homework so that Louis wouldn’t take his silence as cancellation. 

Now that they are at the coffee shop, Harry immediately spots Louis sitting at a small table by the window, and wonders how early Louis arrived since he beat Harry, who has instinctually arrived a few minutes early himself. Louis waves, beckoning Harry to the chair across from him. 

“Got us two black coffees, hope your order is still the same,” Louis says by way of greeting, pushing one of the paper cups closer to Harry’s waiting hands. 

“Thanks, I’ll always take black,” Harry greets. There is a moment of human silence as Harry pulls out his chair, scraping along the tile, and sits. “How has your day been?”

“Good, but busy. Nothing new though,” Louis says. “How about you?”

“Pretty much the same, lots to do even though it’s only the first week.” Harry chuckles with mirth. Gosh, things used to be so simple between them. He remembers teasing, he remembers bumping hips, spontaneous tackles, sharing  _ everything _ . They are light years separate now with this small talk. Harry has always hated shooting the breeze, despite always asking people about their days and remarking on the weather when conversation became sparse. “Tell me all about Paris,” Harry says. It seems an open ended enough question to get Louis talking. Harry has always been the longer storyteller, but Louis was the theatrical one. He is a theater major afterall. 

“Gosh it was… it was everything,” Louis says. “There is the Eiffel Tower and the tourist things, but the city is also just so much  _ more _ . There are approximately 500 places to get coffee on every block and the old Moulin Rouge is still around and there are so many cobbled streets.” Harry’s question has done the trick, and Louis is off. He tells stories of drunken nights, tales of his French pronunciations gone wrong, and recounts of the most iconic moments, the kind of moments he will tell his grandchildren in a century. 

“So then Enzo and I are stumbling down the street--”

“Seems like you spent a lot of time with Enzo,” Harry says, and he didn’t mean it to sound so jealous but by  _ god _ it did. Harry tries to recover. “What is he like?”

Louis blinks once, twice. Harry doesn’t think he knows what to make of Harry right now. It’s apparent how much they don’t quite know one another anymore, like meeting at a high school reunion two decades late. 

“Enzo was--is the best. He’s cool, he’s  _ so _ fun, he’s really...genuine. Or well, I thought he was,” Louis says, eyes unfocused, staring into one of the tiles on the floor as if it were Paris. He lets out a wistful sigh. “Harry, I, um, I was dating Enzo.”

Harry knows he should say something, anything. He should recover from the shock because coming out really shouldn’t be a shock in this day and age, but he feels himself staring, wordless. He feels horrible, he feels like the worst person to ever walk this planet because he can’t just say something back to Louis--

“And now we don’t talk anymore.”

Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Louis is upset, and Harry doesn’t know if he is still a person who can provide any kind of comfort to this old friend. “Can I ask why? That doesn’t sound like he’s such a swell guy then.” Harry immediately hates himself for saying “swell.” Who the hell says “swell?”

“He was the best, but then… well, I guess it set in that I had to return home, and he hadn’t really thought about the future yet. Or that’s what I would guess happened, but fuck if I know.” And there’s the Louis Harry knew, swearing in the middle of the coffee shop. He’s in there, they both still are. 

“Does he just not answer you?”

“Hasn’t all summer. Not that I have been consistently trying, I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Louis says, looking at his coffee. Harry doesn’t know if it was supposed to be a jab at him too or not. If someone were to ask Harry who stopped talking to who between the two of them, he wouldn’t be able to say. Their departure from conversation had been a slow drift, neither the one to push away. Just two rafts floating apart, two ice floats out at sea. But Louis could very well believe it was Harry’s doing. 

“Things were rocky at the end too,” Louis says, and it takes Harry a minute to remember Louis is talking about Enzo. “Sometimes I think that after the novelty of playing tourist with me wore off, the reason to keep me around was kinda gone too. Like I was the fun, new guy to play with but then he grew bored.”

“Oh, Lou.”

“He wasn’t out around school though, so there wasn’t any  _ reviews _ , ya know? Like I couldn’t ask around for info on how he had dated before, because no one would have known.  _ And  _ that would have been outing him,” Louis continues. “But if I could have, sometimes I think it would have saved me a bit of trouble.” 

They sit in silence for a moment. “But I guess the good thing,” Louis almost whispers, “is that now I know for sure I am gay.”

“How long have you thought you were?” Harry hopes he isn’t prying, isn’t pushing his luck with how open they suddenly are in this moment. It feels precarious, like the tiniest word could crack the ice. 

“Years,” Louis says, eyes flicking to meet Harry’s before looking down again. He chuckles. “Just needed confirmation to be sure.”

Harry can’t help the surge of jealousy tightening his shoulders, but he wishes  _ he _ was the reason Louis realized he loved men, not a random frenchman who ditched Louis.

“What about you?” Louis asks, face brighter and focused again. “Anyone I should know about?”

Harry thinks about his weird feelings, about his total lack of sex drive. Of how he had made it to second base with a girl at a party last spring and been the one to stop. And how he has kissed Cara during drinking games and never felt a thing, kissed his friend, Fionn, during a drinking game and not felt a wish for anything further. Harry gulps. 

“No, single as ever,” he says, pushing lightness into the reply. “Single pringle.” He cracks a smile and finds that it turns into something real. Being single doesn’t feel quite as lonely with a good friend around. But does he want Louis to be more than a friend?

“Have you kept up with our friends from freshman year?”

Harry feels guilty. He doesn’t talk to many of them anymore, just Liam. That was the reason he had originally rushed Kappa Alpha Alpha, because Liam had begged him to turn out to the rush at the beginning of their sophomore year. 

“Just Liam. Is he why you came to rush too?”

Louis smirks. “Guilty as charged. Boy, does he do a good pitch for the society though. Made me want to get in  _ desperately _ even though I didn’t know that it was a thing for two whole years.”

“Eh, that’s what happens when you’re out of country though, right?” Harry can feel them skirting around why  _ they _ stopped talking, why Louis cut off  _ all _ contact when he was out of country. 

“It was hard enough with the whole time zone thing to keep up with my family, I guess friends kinda took a back burner.” Harry hears how it’s meant to be an apology, but he also hears himself listed as a backburner. He would be lying if he says it didn’t hurt. 

But Harry also knows Louis has six siblings, siblings he already feels guilty for leaving to come to college at all. Harry had been a part of Louis’s process towards deciding to study in Paris, had witnessed Louis’s debate on if he morally could go or not. Harry had condoned it, encouraged him to take the opportunity. How could Louis be accepted into the study abroad program and  _ not _ pursue it? 

“I guess I just have a lot of time to make up for,” Louis says, sheepish. He has both hands on his coffee cup like Harry, a small social crutch. Harry’s hands are warm, tucked partially into his sleeves and also on the cup. It’s the beginning of the ice melting between them, opening up the water to flow again. 

“You’re already making a start,” Harry says, motioning between them. They reflect one another’s small smiles and lapse into more conversation, a bit easier and a bit more natural as time wears on. 

“I missed this,” Louis says later. His coffee is empty and they have both relaxed into their seats more, slouching. 

_ I missed you _ , Harry thinks. He also thinks he could do this all day, chatting with Louis about nothing and everything. He could do this for a lifetime. 

 

The final night of Kappa Alpha Alpha’s rush is dead serious. Harry arrives in his business attire; sport coat, black skinny jeans, name tag pinned to his lapel. His boots click on the floor and he can’t help but think that Louis has never seen him wear boots before. It’s a new addition to his life, embracing fashion, and he can’t help but wonder if Louis will notice his snazzy boots tonight. 

The final night of rush is interviews, where each rushee talks with two actives and is grilled about  _ everything _ from personal endeavors to academic achievements and beyond. It’s really the night that makes or breaks if a rushee gets in, unless they have already pissed off actives in the first two nights. It happens more than you would think. Harry already has one overly politically conservative rushee on his shit list. 

Niall and Harry, of course, team up for interviews, settling on one side of the long tables. A random rushee is assigned to sit across from them and the interviews begin. Three minutes with each, and they have to remember who is who. Harry is in charge of taking notes. 

The first rushee is a sophomore biology major, pre veterinary. Niall asks her about her other organizations, and when she lists pre vet club, a service sorority,  _ and _ study abroad club Harry writes “Busy” and underlines it twice. When her three minutes are up, Niall looks at the notes and nods in approval. 

Harry writes glowing reviews of a few rushees he met the first night, perfectly splendid kids he would love to have in the society. One girl makes a pass at Niall and Harry writes “No” beside her name, which Niall tries to cross off to write “Yes” instead. They struggle back and forth over the pen until the next rushee sits down. Louis. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Harry says. He feels a little more comfortable around Louis, not like everything is fixed between them, but like it’s on its way there. The stab of nerves in his stomach when he sees Louis isn’t as severe as it was, but it is still a sucker punch to his gut. In the back of his mind, Harry thinks it won’t be gone until he is out to Louis too. Though this would be made much easier if he knew if he was into guys for sure or not. Although, if he is going to consider himself a little bit in love with Louis, then he supposes he should really count himself as LGBTQ--

“So Louis,” Niall starts, and Harry can tell from his tone this is  _ not _ going to be a serious interview. “Donuts: Jelly filled or iced?”

“Depends,” Louis says, thinking. “Is the icing chocolate or vanilla?”

“You’re in,” Niall says. He points at Harry’s pen. “The only note you better be writing is ‘Yes.’ That’s all capitals, by the way.”

Harry makes a big show of scratching “YES” beside Louis’s name on his sheet, going over each letter a few times so they stand out on the page like scorch marks. “Looks like you’re in,” Harry says with a smile. “Only, I didn’t say that because making promises about acceptance is strictly forbidden.”

“Eh, the only thing they would  _ actually _ kick you out for is sharing the secret handshake,” Niall says. 

“Oh, fuck yeah. There’s a secret handshake!” Louis says.

“Keep your voice down, blimey,” Niall says, taking on an accent. “We can’t have all these fuckers knowing ‘bout the handshake.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder, one eye twitching purposefully. 

Harry thinks he might die a little if, after seeing these shenanigans, Louis doesn’t get in. He needs these shenanigans around everyday again, and the combined nature of Louis and Niall might just kill him. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The next week,  _ For Consumption _ has their first meeting of the semester. As a junior editor, Harry isn’t in charge by any means  _ but _ he does have a lot of say in what pieces are published in the magazine. They haven’t even opened submissions yet, but Harry knows this meeting will be hours long as they have to talk about the changes. The magazine is going online this semester. 

“So thankfully the website is all sorted,” the editor in chief, Nick, says to the room. “Now, we all just have to learn how to format for the site and make our selections for this semester.”

As per usual, they are squeezed around a boardroom table, shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip. Harry is sandwiched between the big man himself, Nick, and a freshman he only just met. 

“We need to set the deadlines for submissions for the semester,” Nick says. Harry already has his planner open, pen in hand. 

“We usually have one around Halloween,” Harry says. “Halloweve is Sunday, so we probably shouldn’t make it Sunday night because people will be partying,” Harry starts. “The next weekend then? Or do we want to do the one before?”

“I think I’d prefer more time to curate the magazine,” Sarah, a sophomore across the table, says. “I feel like we were pretty rushed last semester.”

“So November… sixth then?” Harry says. 

Nick glances around the table, assessing. “Looks like everyone is in support?”

“Anyone opposed?” Harry asks. It seems he has picked a good day. 

“Okay, that was easy,” Nick says with a smile. “Any other business we want to cover?”

When no one responds, Nick lets them know they will be training about posting on the website next week and he has already contacted the visual communications department to find a student to design the semester’s cover. Then they are released from the meeting. 

Harry throws his things back into his bag, making sure his water bottle is upright to keep his computer safe. 

“Hey Harry?” Nick asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Harry says, sitting back down. Around them, the room clears out. Two of the freshman stand in the hallway just outside the door, talking loudly about their excitement for joining the magazine. 

“As you know, I am graduating at semester,” Nick starts. Harry thinks he knows where this is going. “When I was a junior editor, the chief made sure I observed what she did so that I could take over her position. I’m assuming you’re interested in being editor in chief?”

Harry nods, then realizes he has a mouth. “Yes, of course.”

“Sweet, perfect. I will keep you in the loop on what I am doing, let you observe and what not. CC you on my emails and all that.” Nick claps him on the shoulder. “I think you’d be a great editor in chief.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, earnest. “Means a lot.”

 

That weekend, the rushees for Kappa Alpha Alpha find out if they are going to be pledges or not. Harry watches his email like a hawk, waiting for the list of new members to be sent to the current ones so he can see if Louis made it. As he refreshes his email for the third time in an hour, he thinks he expects Louis to get in. Not only did Harry and Niall give him glowing reviews, but he genuinely interviews well and, to the best of Harry’s knowledge, has all the accolades for it. 

When the email finally arrives, Harry opens it immediately and Control+F searches for Louis’s name. There it is, listed towards the bottom. Harry leans back in his desk chair, tilting it on just two of the legs, and clenches his fists in a silent “yes.”

The bottom of the email has the instructions for the “event” tonight (a.k.a. the party) and Harry puts the address into his phone. 

“Oh, that’s just Liam’s house,” he says aloud when he sees the pin on Google maps. 

The door clicks. “What’s just Liam’s house?”

Harry turns, catching Niall as he shrugs off a thin coat and toes off his shoes. “The KAA party.”

They leave fifteen minutes late so as to not be “early” and walk the short few blocks off campus to Liam’s rented home. He shares it with a varsity baseball player, Andy, and one other kid Harry has never seen the face of despite spending several Friday and Saturday nights here during his time in KAA. They don’t knock when they arrive, hearing so many voices inside it would be futile. Niall heads to the kitchen to put his six pack in the fridge while Harry searches the faces. Despite the house being full of friends, Harry is only looking for one person: Louis. It’s a stark difference from when he had seen Louis at the bar and run the other way. 

Harry finds him tucked into a corner of the kitchen, talking to Sarah Jones. She’s a senior music major and Harry can imagine they are talking about show tunes, music, or something of the like. He hesitates to interrupt. 

Then Louis notices Harry, hovering six feet back near the fridge. “Harry!” There is a beer in Louis’s hand and his voice is a little too loud considering the kitchen isn’t bogged with people and voices at the moment. Is he already drunk?

“Lou,” Harry says. “Congratulations!” 

Louis smiles, lips closed so that his cheeks pull and crinkle his eyes more than usual. Harry is endeared. 

Sarah has slipped away, and Harry feels bad he stole Louis. He feels less bad though when Louis decides to hug him in greeting too. Harry wraps his arms around Louis, whose face is pressed into his shoulder. This might be the first time he has breathed in a year. 

They spend the short party talking, sharing more about their time apart with one another. Harry feels like they are still dancing around  _ why _ they didn’t talk but he also feels like he knows the answer. Sometimes, you are sidetracked from the people that matter. Sometimes distance gets in the way and sometimes, despite all the technology the world possess, it’s hard to keep in touch. 

Niall finds Harry when he is leaving, wanting to hit the sack early as he has an econ test in the morning. Harry debates for a moment staying longer, but he still has homework to do and, right now, he is still sober enough to complete it. 

“I should go,” he tells Louis. 

Louis makes a pouting face. 

“Hey, but we will see each other at chapter meeting.”

“Oh that’s right, every Tuesday from now on,” Louis says. “Shit, I have a work shift I need to reschedule.”

Harry laughs. 

 

In mid September, it is still warm enough that the campus quad is teeming with life, students spread across it on blankets like towels on the beach and frisbee players creating a ruckus nearby like seagulls. Leaving class, Harry settles into the chaos of the quad, selecting two trees to string his hammock between. As he relaxes into the fabric, a Jamaica Kincaid novel in hand, he notices a group of guys across the quad. They are kicking a soccer ball between them, indulging in conversation as they languidly pass the checked ball. One of the boys is definitely Louis, wearing tapered joggers and a oversized hoodie. 

Harry sinks back into the hammock, so that he cannot see anything but the tree branches above and the sky. The spine of the book cracks, ice splitting on a pond frozen all winter, as he opens to the first page and begins reading. Half this book has to be read by class time Wednesday. The expectations of his professors for how fast he can read really are unreasonable. 

The hum of the quad provides the perfect white noise for falling into the story. Harry doesn’t know how much time has passed, only paying attention to the occasional call of friends greeting one another or birds calling between the tops of the trees. The sun warms his skin, and he lets his head fall to the side, resting on one fist as the other props his book on his stomach. Black jeans were a mistake, as his legs warm in the tight denim. 

Harry doesn’t notice Louis’s approach until a shadow falls over him.

“Hey!”

“Louis!” Harry says. “Hey.” He removes his sunglasses, sliding them up into his hair like a headband. 

“Thought this was your hammock. Remember when you used to nap out here freshman year?”

“Couldn’t forget, those were the best naps I’ve ever taken,” Harry says. He sits up, and Louis moves to plop into the hammock beside him. 

“Can it hold two people?”

“Yeah, yes,” Harry says. Louis settles in beside him, the angle of the fabric and tension on the trees causing them to slide together. Pressed together from hip to knee, legs hanging off the side of the hammock towards the grass, Louis continues reminiscing. 

“Gosh, remember the first week of school? I don’t think we did a single piece of homework.”

“And we spent all our money on Jack,” Harry says. 

“Oh my gosh, yeah. All we drank was Jack and Coke at all those parties. Who even were we?”

“Inexperienced. Didn’t know shots got us there much faster. Not hungover?” Harry has a plethora of options to offer.

“Hmm, I like that two out of three have changed.” Louis closes his eyes, basking in the sunlight. He’s a lizard on a rock, a cat between the blinds and the window pane, an anhinga drying its wings after a swim. Harry watches where his long eyelashes brush the tops of his cheekbones and wishes there was a reason to reach out to Louis. A hair on his shoulder, an eyelash on his cheek, his fringe in his face, obscuring his iridescent eyes. 

“Louis,” Harry starts. He’s not sure if he is going to finish. Harry is about to make this a moment, the kind of moment when the music stops in a film, the kind of moment that you remember the smell of years later and it knocks into your stomach like a punch. It’s the kind of moment that takes your breath away. Harry doesn’t know yet if it will be in a good or bad way. 

“Hmm?” Louis hums. His eyes are still closed. It is the only reason Harry thinks he is going to say this, encouraged by the sight of the veins in Louis’s eyelids, little blue rivers of life.  

“I think I’m bi.” Harry realizes too late that he perhaps should not have brought this up while sharing a hammock that is hell bent on creating physical contact between them. 

“Like bisexual?” Louis asks without missing a beat. 

Harry thinks it’s too easy. There must be a catch, right? “Yeah, I think I am attracted to men and women.” He realizes this isn’t exactly true, because Harry finds himself a little attracted to  _ every _ gender in his domestically blissful way. 

“Cool,” Louis responds. His eyes are still closed, but they twitch, and Harry knows they will soon open to unleash emotions. “Why do you think that?”

Harry is silent. What does he mean? It feels like an undermining. Louis opens his eyes and sets his baby blues on Harry’s face intently. “Like why do you think that but not  _ know  _ that?”

Harry takes a moment to respond. “I guess cause I’m still getting used to the idea. I haven’t settled into it.” There are pauses between his sentences, room to think like when a professor pauses in class to await in answer. “And I guess because I just don’t feel like I’m like anyone who is bi.”

Harry is glad Louis does not follow up on his last statement. He doesn’t want to explain how he wants to share a bath with Louis, but in the most innocent way possible. Or how pretty girls make him want to go dancing. 

Louis closes his eyes, settling back into the hammock and resting his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m glad you felt like you could tell me.”

“It was a no brainer, logically.” Harry means to tell Louis that he has been dying to inform him, but doesn’t want to be desperate and doesn’t know if the words can find their way to his lips. 

“I guess that is what happens when you start letting people into your life,” Louis laughs with mirth. “Then they feel that they can let you into theirs too.”

Harry wants to hold his hand. He might die if he doesn’t. His melodramatic nerves shake his fingers as he thinks about what it would feel like to have his fingers tangled with Louis’s, a gentle chaos like a sailor’s knot. 

“Want to hang out sometime? Like have a movie night? Or play shitty N64 games, like old times?”

“I’d like that,” Harry says, glancing at his hands and then back up to Louis. He smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you've been keeping up day-to-day, I was thinking posting every other day would be a fun anticipation thing but it seems like it may have backfired lolol


	5. Chapter 5

That weekend, Harry drives his beat up Camry to Louis’s apartment, five blocks off campus in a four story building. It’s a structure he has driven past countless times in the last three years, but never seen the inside of. He realizes as he takes the stairs up to the third floor that he doesn’t know if Louis has a roommate. 

Harry knocks twice, quick raps of his knuckles. He hears a few soft footsteps and then the door opens to reveal Louis. He is wearing an oversized hoodie with a brand Harry doesn’t know stitched on the chest and sweatpants tucked into tube socks, so white they look like he took them out of the package today. 

“Hey,” Louis says, moving back to let Harry enter. “Welcome to the abode.”

Louis’s apartment is a studio, with his bed tucked into a corner and blocked by a low bookshelf. A small television is across from a loveseat, taking up the rest of the living space besides a corner kitchen. It is untidy, but not disheveled. Someone lives here who doesn’t mind some mess. That’s the Louis Harry knew. Their room was always cluttered and disorganized, but never gross. The worst occurrences were when they forgot to empty their small trash can, and a banana peel or apple core would begin to rot in the bottom. When that happened, Harry plugged in his wax warmer and let the scent be covered by “Birch Wood” while Louis was in class. 

“How do you, the most social person I know, live alone?” Harry teases, to cover the fluttering in his stomach. 

“Didn’t have roommate options after a year abroad. I signed my lease via a fax,” Louis says, moving towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna pretend to be a good host, so want water or anything?”

“What’s ‘anything?’” 

“Dr. Pepper, orange juice, Capri Sun?” Louis asks, sticking his head in the fridge. “Or beer. What kind of night do you want this to be?” Harry can’t see his mouth, but he can see the skin by his eyes crinkle as he smiles. 

“I’m a college student,” Harry says, “so of course I am going to say yes to the Capri Sun.”

Louis chuckles and tosses the foil packet to Harry, another in hand for himself. “We’re adults,” Louis assures himself. 

“Definitely,” Harry agrees, settling onto the couch. “And because we are adults, we are also going to play rainbow road on Mario Kart, right?”

“Of course.”

“God, I forgot how bad these graphics are,” Harry says as they begin the first race. He takes Toad right over a cliff and off the course. “I can barely tell where I am going.”

“No need to roast my game,” Louis laughs as he takes the lead. “What did it ever do to you?”

“Disappear from my life for a year.” It comes out before Harry really thinks about it, a quick fire response without forethought. He gulps. “Sorry, that was harsh.”

Lous is quiet for a moment. It could be a pretense, or he could honestly be focused on the race. The moment feels like one of the longest of Harry’s life. “Nah, I deserved it.”

Harry pauses the game. Should they talk about this?

“It’s fine Harry, hit play.” Now, Louis seems mad. His cheeks are tight, like his mouth is tight. Harry rarely saw Louis like this when they were roommates. It takes a bit to upset Louis. 

Harry hits play and they finish the race in silence before lapsing back into easy play. By the time they hit rainbow rode, they are making gay jokes and utterly failing. The CPUs beat them by a mile and Harry has to retire, in eighth place and significantly behind Louis. 

Louis gets up to pee and comes back with a bag of chips. “I thought a snack sounded good.”

Harry thanks him and takes a handful. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure, do we want to do the Netflix hour long search or pick from my DVDs?”

Harry chuckles. The bookshelves hold a number of DVDs, as well as videogames, and he quickly scans the available titles. “Why don’t we watch one of yours,” Harry says. He gets up and sits in front of the bookshelf, sorting through the cases. Louis hops over the back of the couch to join him, plunking to the floor cross-legged. 

“ _ The Man From U.N.C.L.E. _ ?” Harry asks as an option. 

“Sorry, but I just watched it last weekend,” Louis says. He is sitting close enough Harry’s knee can feel the heat from his.

Harry continues scanning. “Wait, I can’t believe you have  _ High School Musical _ .”

“One and two,” Louis says with mock pride, eyes crinkling. 

“Two was always my favorite.”

“Summer, summer, summer,” Louis chants under his breath. 

There is a pause. “Okay but…”

“Yeah, we are watching it.” Louis snatches the case off of the shelf and scrambles up from the floor, slipping in his socks as he goes  _ around _ the sofa this time to put the DVD in his player. Harry goes  _ over _ instead, putting himself straight in the middle of the loveseat, centered on the two cushions. 

When Louis turns around, he fakes an aghast reaction. “Where am  _ I _ supposed to sit?”

Harry shrugs, so Louis throws himself onto the couch nearly on top Harry. They scramble for a moment, and Harry feels like they used to, like they’re friends. 

Harry steals the remote from Louis’s hand, to which Louis gives a sharp exclamation. Harry presses play while leaning dangerously to the side, avoiding Louis’s hands searching for the remote’s return. 

Once the Disney logo starts, Louis settles down. He is still half atop Harry, pressed to his side. Harry’s heart feels like an assembly machine, thumping endlessly into the bones of his chest. He pictures a factory machine smashing down materials, and thinks his ribs might break. 

They remark on how extra Sharpey is, and how silly the “I Don’t Dance” sequence is, considering Chad is dancing while being ridiculously sure he doesn’t. Harry is glad they decided on a movie, it allows them to focus on something other than the tension between them. It seems to be coming from two angles now: their strange history and also a new thickness in the air. Harry doesn’t spend long thinking about what the latter could be.

“According to the internet,” Harry says, “Ryan and Chad switch clothes after this scene.”

“Switch clothes?” Louis says. Harry glances down, where Louis’s head is lower from his slouched position, and sees his eyebrows knit together. “Why would they switch clothes?” 

The scene in question begins and Harry snatches the remote from where he had placed it on the side table. He pauses the movie. 

“See, Chad has on Ryan’s hat and Ryan has on Chad’s baseball uniform.”

Louis is silent for a moment. “That seems like they fucked.” 

Harry would have spit out his drink if he had been sipping from it. “I ‘spose it does,” he loosely agrees. 

“But seriously, why would that be in a tween movie?” Louis sits up straighter. “I’m going to Google it.” Louis’s fingers dance across his phone screen before he waits for the page to load. 

“Is it to show how they have realized and amended their differences?” Harry thinks aloud. “That’s a really english major-y answer, though.”

“Okay, okay,” Louis says quickly. “According to this article, the guy who plays Ryan wanted the character to be gay, but of course Disney wouldn’t allow that.”

“WAIT--is that why Ryan kisses the baking dude in the credit scenes of the third movie?” Harry asks. 

“Probably,” Louis says, scrolling the article further. “This doesn't mention it, nor does it have a concrete reason for this scene. But I guess people speculate it was the one nod to homosexuality Disney allowed because kids ‘wouldn’t recognize it.’”

“Then what’s the point,” Harry asks. “If it’s not there for the kids.”

“Easter egg for the parents?” Louis rearranges again, accidentally digging an elbow into Harry’s leg, who bites his tongue. Louis resettles, still touching Harry. 

“I suppose, but it’s probably parents that are worried about it being gay.”

“True. They should have just made Ryan gay.” Louis is still looking at his phone, but he doesn’t seem to be reading the article on the screen anymore. “Would have been helpful. A theater kid in high school being gay? I think I would have realized a lot sooner.”

Harry thinks for a moment. Has he ever seen a bi character on television? He doesn’t think so. “Yeah, it would be really cool.”

“Think it would have helped… can help you too?” Louis asks. 

Harry thinks it definitely would, but waits a moment to answer. “Yeah, representation would be nice. Cause I don’t even know the first thing about being bi.”

“Well,” Lousi starts, and Harry can tell from his over-enunciated tone this will be sarcastic. “I think step number one is being attracted to guys and girls.”

“Okay, you got me. I  _ do  _ know the  _ first _ thing about being bi.” Harry smiles, but Louis isn’t looking. He leans into Louis. 

“You know, there are organizations for this kind of thing,” Louis says. “I think our GSA is called Chroma or something.”

“Chroma,” Harry repeats. “And what do they do there?”

“To be honest, I’m not totally sure what it all entails,” Louis says. He shifts so he can look Harry in the face. “But I’m sure there is someone bi there you could talk to. We could go.”

Harry recognizes Louis is not suggesting this just for Harry, but also that Louis  _ wants _ to. 

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Harry already feels nervous, but he wants to do this. For himself and for Louis. “What could go wrong?”

“Being out around campus,” Louis says quickly. “It scares me.”

Harry is stunned. He figured if Louis had been dating a boy in Paris and part of the issue had been that Enzo wasn’t out, that meant Louis was. Although, Harry supposes that doesn’t mean Louis is out around  _ this _ campus. This campus knows a narrative of straight Louis, a false narrative.  _ Same for me _ . 

“It’s just the group members, they’ll understand this kind of stuff,” Harry says. He isn’t sure when they switched roles, so Harry was campaigning to attend Chroma, but he doesn’t want Louis to back out now. “Aren’t there some people out in the theater department? They’ve had fine experiences, right?”

Harry is basing this somewhat on assumption, hoping there are other LGBTQ people who are out in Louis’s department. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Louis says slowly. 

“So,” Harry thinks aloud, “We will go together and then, well, we will see what happens. How does that sound?”

Louis nods, his head bumping into Harry’s shoulder. 

 

Louis meets Harry outside his dorm two nights later, shrugged deep into the collar of his sheepskin lined jean jacket to keep out the chill. The sun is not down, but has receded behind buildings. The campus is in shadow, and the evening air has cooled considerably. 

“Hey,” Harry says, approaching Louis. After their heart-to-heart the other night, Harry wants to greet Louis with a hug but doesn’t know if it is appropriate or if it is his touch-starved heart speaking. 

“Hey Harry,” Louis says, pushing his hands out of the sleeves and moving to embrace Harry. Elated, Harry returns the hug and revels in the short moment of contact. 

“The meeting is in Balton, right?” Harry asks, looking in the direction of the political science hall. 

“Yes, room 202.” They set off together, Harry’s nerves building the longer they walk down the brick campus paths. He seems to be emanating his nerves into the air, as Louis notices and gently bumps Harry’s shoulder, like a reassurance. Harry glances at him, and he looks nervous too. God, they are a wreck. 

Harry tries not to think too long nor too hard as he looks down and grasps Louis’s hand in his own. He tells himself it’s for both of their reassurance, but he can’t fully lie to himself. It’s also because, romantically, he wants to be holding Louis’s hand. 

Louis doesn’t pull away, may even begin walking even closer to Harry. They both have on jackets, but Harry imagines he can feel Louis’s body heat on his arm. 

They arrive at Balton Hall and push through the front doors. There is a staircase down the hall, and they slowly step across the stone floor. It’s quiet at this time, after most classes. Somewhere on this level, there is the murmur of voices and a bang. It sounds like a night class is watching a movie. 

They take the steps quickly, and turn the corner to walk to the end of the hallway where room 202 resides. Harry steels himself before going inside, and realizes Louis’s dropped his hand somewhere inside the building. Trying not to feel sorry for himself, he steps through the doorway into the Chroma meeting. 

A small amount of people are mingling inside, sitting on the desks or gathered at the front of the classroom. It’s an average sized space, meaning the club isn’t very big. Harry hopes they don’t end up left out because everyone else is a tightly knit group. 

“Hey, you guys here for Chroma?” A ginger man peels away from the group at the board and comes to greet them. Louis is a half step behind Harry as he moves to meet the man halfway. 

“Welcome, I’m Ed.” Harry shakes his hand and introduces himself and Louis. “Great to see new faces. Don’t be nervous. We are all fun and games here.”

Ed goes on to quickly tell them what will happen and that he will ask them to introduce themselves and their proper pronouns since they are new. “And remember to ask everyone else’s as you mingle.” Harry nods, and he thinks he sees Louis do the same. “But feel free to sit anywhere, we will start in…” Ed checks his watch. “Two minutes!”

Harry and Louis select desks halfway back and to the side of the room. It’s the same way Harry seats himself in every classroom; not obviously at the back, trying to goof off or sleep but not over eagerly at the front of the room. On the side, you can still get away with working on some other homework during lecture though. 

The president, a girl with bright blue hair, calls the meeting to order shortly there after. She lets everyone know that tonight they will be going over a short history of terms, flags, and symbols for each LGBTQ group. 

“I made a fancy slideshow,” she tells them. “Get excited.” A kid towards the back whoops. 

The first slide is the rainbow flag. At least Harry knows this. She moves on to explain a few different lesbian flags, one of which has a set of lips on it. Then there is the bi flag. Harry has seen it before, but if he had been asked five minutes ago which colors were on it, he isn’t sure he would have been able to say. The slideshow continues, with brief mentions of why the colors of each flag were chosen. The second to last flag appears on the screen with the title “asexual” written above. Harry doesn’t think he has heard this term. The flag itself is black on top, with gray, white, and purple bars underneath. 

“The fade from black to white represents the spectrum of asexuality,” the president tells them. “Asexuality is the absence or a lack of sexual attraction towards people. Asexual people may still feel romantic attraction however.”

Harry feels like his jaw is on the floor, or maybe that’s the ceiling. His life feels a little upside down. He never knew there were terms for not wanting to have sex with people. He always thought he was still waiting for some grandiose sexual awakening, the want for skin on skin and orgasmic highs. How did he not know this could be permanent? How did he not know this could be is adult life?

The president moves on. “This flag is for the aromantic community.” Harry barely hears, still processing the concept of asexuality. 

After the slideshow, a short girl pops to the front of the room, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Remember, next week  _ Love, Simon _ comes out! We are planning a group showing Thursday night. Gotta save money by hitting up the theater during the week!” She laughs like a pixie. “I can’t be there, but Zayn has kindly offered to organize rides for everyone so be looking out for a post on the Facebook page!”

Zayn? Harry turns to look across the faces and spots his group partner, slouched in his seat with two fingers raised in recognition of his role in the social event. Zayn notices Harry and gives a little wave. 

“Do you know him?” Louis asks quietly. Harry feels a hand on his arm, Louis making himself known. 

“We are in a class together.”

After the meeting, Zayn approaches Harry and Louis as they pull their coats back on. 

“Glad to see you here,” Zayn tells Harry. “You a little less confused? Was a good night for you to come.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, it was pretty cool, very helpful.” Zayn nods, in his solemn way. “Zayn, this is Louis. Louis, this is Zayn.”

They shake hands. “Harry, let me know if you have any other questions. Just text me.” They already have one another’s numbers because of the group project, so Harry thanks him, then they leave. Traversing the abandoned hallways, voices of Chroma members behind them wafting from wall to wall, Harry feels a new spring in his step. 

 

Back at his dorm room, Harry opens his laptop before the door has even clicked shut and Googles “asexuality.” Niall is somewhere, probably at a bar, leaving Harry to conduct his research alone.  

He reads the first three webpages that Google suggests before finding any terms for the gray area between average people and sex repulsed ace people. He begins Googling these terms, reading various definitions. A number of results take him straight to Tumblr. 

By the time he has thoroughly delved down the rabbit hole the Internet is providing, he is pretty sure he is aegosexual. He doesn’t know if this is a term people use regularly, if he can ever use it in casual conversation, but he does know every definition he has seen seems to apply to him. 

Harry isn’t repulsed by the idea of sex, but he doesn't want it for himself. Check. Still experiences sexual attraction, but doesn’t want to act on it. Check. It’s only two main points, but its two points that have been a source of stress and confusion in his life for  _ so _ long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment if you’ve been keeping up! Thanks for reading :)


	6. Chapter 6

On Thursday, Harry receives a text from Louis. 

“Want to go to  _ Love, Simon _ with Chroma?” 

Harry has to think about it all of five seconds. “YES”

Harry picks up Louis first, then two other Chroma members Zayn had arranged in their car. They drive to the theater, listening to a soft song on the radio. Harry feels nervous, but he’s not sure why. 

They park, thankfully getting a spot close to the front doors, and the other two Chroma members excitedly pull ahead as they enter. Harry realizes why he is nervous as soon as Louis bumps his shoulder and knits their fingers together to walk inside. This is a a little bit of a date.

The Chroma group buy tickets and gather in the theater lobby. Once everyone has arrived, Zayn leads them down the hall to the theater. 

“I heard a lot of people have been crying during,” a voice says behind Harry. He turns and sees the president, her colored hair making her easily recognizable. 

“Oh no,” Harry says, realizing too late it was aloud. 

Louis cocks his head. 

“That means  _ I’m _ going to cry.”

Louis laughs, a chuckle. Harry can see he remembers how easily Harry cries, how sympathetic he is for fictional characters. 

“I brought tissues,” the Chroma president informs them, opening her large purse to reveal a square box inside. “Just give me the signal and I’ve got the supplies.”

They take up an entire row of the cinema themselves, taking the second one from the back. It’s a small theater, appropriate for the small college town, so every seat is a good seat. Harry and Louis aren’t in the middle, but do have Chroma members on either side of them. The president is only one seat away from Harry. He takes note, in case he really does need the tissues. 

The film begins and Harry reclines in his seat, getting comfortable for the next two hours. Louis slouches to mimic him, mirrors. Harry remembers reading somewhere that if someone copies your body posture, it means they like you or care about you. He smiles to himself. 

Slowly, over the course of Simon’s story, they slouch towards one another. Harry feels a little weird knowing other members of Chroma are surrounding them, but he doesn’t regret their knees bumping together. Louis puts his hand on the arm between them and Harry takes the invitation to slip his fingers between Louis’s again. Harry glances at him, and Louis is looking back. 

Then, Simon arrives home from school and his mother is in the living room. She tells her son, “You can breathe, Simon” and Harry loses it. He sniffles as tears begin to trail down his cheeks and he thinks it is so silly to be crying so much at a film, but he can’t help it. 

Thankfully, the tears abate between Simon’s scene with his mom and the one with his dad. Harry can feel the dried tears on his cheeks and thinks there is about to be more. He glances at Louis, wondering if he has noticed that Harry is crying. Louis is focused on the screen, however. His blue eyes are reflecting colors as he watches Simon’s tender moment with his father, the apologies and awkward attempts to understand his son. Harry wonders if he will get to have a moment like this with his mom when he comes out to her. 

Finally, it is the ferris wheel scene. Harry waits anxiously to see if Blue will show, despite knowing he has to for the movie to be so loved, but wonders if he won’t. 

When the ferris wheel begins to ascend with Blue aboard, Harry looks at Louis again. It’s been ages since Harry has wanted to kiss someone, so worried about his neutral feelings towards sex and the other things that happen in a relationship. But he has kissed his friends in drinking games and kissed his high school girlfriend and now, he wants to kiss someone romantically and while he  _ knows _ himself. 

Right now, is perhaps the most he has ever felt like he is okay with himself. He is bisexual. He is probably aegosexual. And that’s beautiful because Harry has never hard  _ words  _ until now. 

It’s like Louis reads his mind, sees how he is embracing the moment. On screen, Simon is riding the ferris wheel and seeing Blue’s face for the first time but in the rows below, two boys who have known one another’s faces for years are seeing one another for the first time. Louis leans in, tilting his head just slightly to angle towards Harry’s. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, inches away from Harry’s lips. Harry doesn’t remember becoming this close, doesn’t remember leaning forward and gripping Louis’s elbow with his hand to draw him in. They are talking during the movie, and Harry knows he would hate himself if he was one of the other patrons, but that doesn’t matter right now. Harry is teetering on an edge, heart sledge hammering its way out of his chest. His heart is escaping, experiencing what he has withheld from himself for so long. 

“Yes,” Harry whispers, and his lips accidentally brush Louis’s. Louis jerks back, like there was an electric shock between them, then registers Harry’s words and surges back. They press lips, comets impacting just to become feathers floating to the ground, sinking into the kiss. Louis breathes sharply through his nose, air rushing past their faces, a white noise to the scene on the screen. 

They are missing the movie, but neither cares. Louis’s hand is on Harry’s leg, propping himself to be able to kiss over the theater arm between them, and the constant pressure of Louis’s presence, along with the presence of his lips, is maybe the only reason Harry doesn’t lose track of time. Harry doesn’t know how he is going to face the Chroma members, his new friends, after this. He can be shameless around Niall, he can be shameless around his sister, but god is he gonna feel awkward. 

It doesn’t matter though as Louis gives Harry’s bottom lip a gentle bite, forcing a rosey shade usually reserved for being three drinks deep in alcohol. But Harry doesn’t need drugs to feel deeply right now, doesn’t need alcohol to feel drunk. He is melting into the kiss, intoxicated with freedom and a lack of fear and the abolishment of the unknown. 

Louis likes him back and by  _ god _ does it feel good. He supposes he knew, but there is an earnest nature to Louis’s kiss, his actions right now and the desperation towards needing Harry ever closer, that makes Harry think he is a little touch starved too, a little lonely, a little built up. How long has Louis wanted this too? Perhaps forever, perhaps they are celestial bodies finally drifted together, intended for all of time. And, damn, it has been an encounter. 

When the movie releases and they spill out of the dark theater and into the bright hallway, Harry takes a moment to blink. Was that a liminal space? What happens in the real world now?

In answer, Louis’s hand finds his again. Harry turns and they are side by side, other Chroma members wandering ahead, following the hallway to leave the theater. A few trickle off to the bathroom. Louis and Harry stay at the back of the pack, making their way out to the foyer, and then through the doors and into the parking lot and on to the rest of their lives. 

 

* * *

Around campus, some people take note of the couple. Other queer people watch them walk past, hand-in-hand, and are inspired by their braveness. Some people see them in the campus coffee shop, hands tucked around coffees like it is the middle of winter. There is always earnest conversation and laughter on their lips. 

Some people see them at parties, dancing and drinking. Sometimes they are sloppy, hanging off one another and bits of spilled drinks on their shirts. Most people see them drinking Jack and Coke. Yet others see them at the bars, too young to be there and wielding their fakes. Here, they are usually accompanied by a cast of friends. Sometimes, it’s a group of obviously queer coded people and sometimes it is other boys. Two of them have been spotted on the quad playing guitar together (the blonde one and the brunette) and people wonder if they are together too. 

They are the talk of the town in the best way possible, referred to in conversation as “#relationshipgoals.” They don’t even know, are unaware of all the attention. They live in their own bubble of perfection.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I condensed some of the chapters so this is actually the final one! I hope you enjoyed the fic, please let me know what you thought!!


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